On Golden Grass
Today I have officially become a California resident.
Exactly 13 months ago, my '93 Ford Explorer skidded its tires on the hot, paved freeways of this state governed by the Austrian immigrant. Governor Arnold ("I yam da one with da speech impediment") exemplifies the immigration of folks here. Seems to me this multicultural, multilingual, highly ethnic, techno rising, blue-skied south Bay Area of California is formed and functioned by a vast array of immigrants - some new or recent, and others pioneering and neighboring. Without any calculated timeline or projections as to where life would eventually find me, I took upon the act of driving from Alaska hauling precious and necessary belongings in my rig to, I guess, settle here in San Jose, or geographically more precise, in Santa Clara county. Thus, I too can be labeled immigrant.
For over a year since my migration here, I have been fickle and uncompromising - both at the same time. I held on to my AK license plates just for the symbolic meaning it bestowed on my life - backwards and the past. I still called Alaska my home. I still called me Alaskan. Over the course of this period, I challenged hope and regained it. My trembling thoughts and wavering decisions to pursue a lost relationship in marriage ending in divorce came and went... then came and went again. My once prince who woke me up from a long, weary sleep in the Philippines, eventually taking me to his kingdom of the Last Frontier continued to occupy a fairy tale. I continued to dream of a wonderful time and life in Alaska and believed that snow is cold yet pure, that wounds left scars yet healed and smoothed, and that life with my prince could positively be ambitious yet rewarding. This vicious cycle of my restlessness and corrupted faith rendered me unhappy, uninspired, and unmotivated to embrace and kiss the California soil.
Throughout the period of this so-called transition in California I teetered and tottered without the realization of the real meaning of my migration. Adjustments, modifications in accommodations, job placements/ displacements and progressions, and all physical forms of transition digressed my real focus on life. My life. I knew that continuance had to be established, therefore obligations or responsibilities were utmost important and administered. My kids and I had to eat and sleep. The play came later. To them. I, on the other hand had not really started.
In short, I waited on those California plates. I waited on an ID card. I simply wasn't ready to be resident of this Golden State where the green grasses turn a golden color during the dry season.
Until now.
I finally looked up to the sky and washed my face in the warmth of this California sun. I saw a beautiful park less than a mile from where I live - for the first time - and found it refreshing, green and calming. For even the man-made lake is alluring to the senses that I transiently forgot the comparison to my memorable Lake Eyak in Cordova. Today also had me spending the entire day with my daughter as we ran errands and ate lunch at a favorite salad bar, then came back home with all missions accomplished, and further rewarded our long day with each a mamon (that sweet and really soft spongey cake!) and mango juice...
Today I seemed convinced and decided that I AM here and should BE here. I have a cute 2-bedroom apartment that is modest and eclectic in its accessories. I also hold a passion-filled job that cater to the hearts of our old, crippled, medically challenged, and wonderful patients (whom we call residents). I have met interesting people and leveled up to friendship with a few great ones. Paula is a straight A student with a 4.0 average who in her puberty is starting to accomplish her own goals and talking of universities in this state or nearby as part of her life structuring routes. There are parks all over, best yet Yosemite is 4 hours away on the road. The freeways are wide, although still titanic and arduous to me, nevertheless linking and conclusive to one's direction.
Last but not least, my automobile runs and hums in perfect harmony as it takes me places, freeways, parks, and horizons where California's blazing sun then bows to retire for another day.
And this time, I have the right plates in place.
Exactly 13 months ago, my '93 Ford Explorer skidded its tires on the hot, paved freeways of this state governed by the Austrian immigrant. Governor Arnold ("I yam da one with da speech impediment") exemplifies the immigration of folks here. Seems to me this multicultural, multilingual, highly ethnic, techno rising, blue-skied south Bay Area of California is formed and functioned by a vast array of immigrants - some new or recent, and others pioneering and neighboring. Without any calculated timeline or projections as to where life would eventually find me, I took upon the act of driving from Alaska hauling precious and necessary belongings in my rig to, I guess, settle here in San Jose, or geographically more precise, in Santa Clara county. Thus, I too can be labeled immigrant.
For over a year since my migration here, I have been fickle and uncompromising - both at the same time. I held on to my AK license plates just for the symbolic meaning it bestowed on my life - backwards and the past. I still called Alaska my home. I still called me Alaskan. Over the course of this period, I challenged hope and regained it. My trembling thoughts and wavering decisions to pursue a lost relationship in marriage ending in divorce came and went... then came and went again. My once prince who woke me up from a long, weary sleep in the Philippines, eventually taking me to his kingdom of the Last Frontier continued to occupy a fairy tale. I continued to dream of a wonderful time and life in Alaska and believed that snow is cold yet pure, that wounds left scars yet healed and smoothed, and that life with my prince could positively be ambitious yet rewarding. This vicious cycle of my restlessness and corrupted faith rendered me unhappy, uninspired, and unmotivated to embrace and kiss the California soil.
Throughout the period of this so-called transition in California I teetered and tottered without the realization of the real meaning of my migration. Adjustments, modifications in accommodations, job placements/ displacements and progressions, and all physical forms of transition digressed my real focus on life. My life. I knew that continuance had to be established, therefore obligations or responsibilities were utmost important and administered. My kids and I had to eat and sleep. The play came later. To them. I, on the other hand had not really started.
In short, I waited on those California plates. I waited on an ID card. I simply wasn't ready to be resident of this Golden State where the green grasses turn a golden color during the dry season.
Until now.
I finally looked up to the sky and washed my face in the warmth of this California sun. I saw a beautiful park less than a mile from where I live - for the first time - and found it refreshing, green and calming. For even the man-made lake is alluring to the senses that I transiently forgot the comparison to my memorable Lake Eyak in Cordova. Today also had me spending the entire day with my daughter as we ran errands and ate lunch at a favorite salad bar, then came back home with all missions accomplished, and further rewarded our long day with each a mamon (that sweet and really soft spongey cake!) and mango juice...
Today I seemed convinced and decided that I AM here and should BE here. I have a cute 2-bedroom apartment that is modest and eclectic in its accessories. I also hold a passion-filled job that cater to the hearts of our old, crippled, medically challenged, and wonderful patients (whom we call residents). I have met interesting people and leveled up to friendship with a few great ones. Paula is a straight A student with a 4.0 average who in her puberty is starting to accomplish her own goals and talking of universities in this state or nearby as part of her life structuring routes. There are parks all over, best yet Yosemite is 4 hours away on the road. The freeways are wide, although still titanic and arduous to me, nevertheless linking and conclusive to one's direction.
Last but not least, my automobile runs and hums in perfect harmony as it takes me places, freeways, parks, and horizons where California's blazing sun then bows to retire for another day.
And this time, I have the right plates in place.
Sweet summer sweat
Some dance to remember
Some dance to forget
- Hotel California by The Eagles
Some dance to remember
Some dance to forget
- Hotel California by The Eagles
posted by Marian "Ylang2" at 6:16 PM
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